Bookstores to Nightclubs
by Terminally Introverted
Summary: Matthew has social anxiety. Over the years, his condition had become so severe that it's nearly incapacitating. When he's on the brink of giving up and living a life of solitude, he meets a self-proclaimed Prussian DJ. Suddenly, life gets a lot more interesting and exciting. But the question remains: will the extroverted albino understand his anxieties?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This story has nothing to do with the hospital series. For once, I'm trying my hand at a light-hearted story. That being said, it also deals with anxiety and panic attacks, the majority of it is based on person experiences. I myself have social anxiety. Warnings for BTT DJs, bad Canadian jokes, a good amount of crack and stupidity, and a possibly inconsistent update schedule.**

* * *

><p>Matthew was drowning.<p>

That was what it felt like, at least. In reality, he was crouched down on the floor of one of the storage closets in the bookstore where he worked, trying desperately to stop the waves of panic crashing into him. It was far, far too busy that particular day. Just five minutes ago, he was fine. He was a little nervous, but overall fine. That didn't last for long. As if someone had flipped a switch, the lights were too bright and the walls were closing in. His breath came too quick, his heart pounded too hard against his ribs, and for the love of god, there were far too many people in that damn store.

Matthew squeezed his eyes shut, tried to remember that this would pass soon, that he wasn't in any real danger, tried to remember to breathe like he did each time this happened. With the shelves around him continuing to spin, he realized with another pang of anxiety that he could not stay here forever. He needed to get back to work, and he needed to so without losing consciousness. He needed to face that crowd. People work in the midst of crowds everyday, it shouldn't be a big deal. It wasn't as though it was life threatening.

So why did it feel that way?

_'Pull yourself together, Matthew.' _The little voice from the back of his mind acted as a signal that this episode was over- for the most part. His lightheadedness refused to cease, his hands continued to shake, but he could stand without the room turning on its side. The floor was no longer threatening to fall from beneath him. That was something, and right now, it was the best Matthew was going to get. He could only pray that he could go the remaining two hours of his shift without being pulled under the current again.

He opened the door to the storage room that he found shortly after the telltale signs of panic had set it, only able to hope that one of his superiors hadn't spotted him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that no one was around his area at the moment, meaning it was likely no one had noticed the disappearance. Considering the frequency of these episodes, Matthew was surprised that he still had a job. What had that been, the third, maybe fifth time this week? If only there wasn't so many people right before the holidays. If only they didn't try to be so chatty with Matthew. If only, if only... he sighed. His life was a never-ending stream of 'if only' statements.

Really, he quite enjoyed his job at the bookstore. He liked being around the books; he liked the quiet concentration it took to take inventory, and he enjoyed restocking the shelves. He liked feeling busy; he liked feeling helpful and wanted. It served as a distraction from the people swarming around like bees. People were always the problem. They gave Matthew undesired, judgmental attention at his worst moments, but were nowhere to be found when he actually wanted to be noticed. It was so bad that it wasn't uncommon for his own brother, Alfred, to forget he was in the same room as him. But of course, the moment Matthew managed to embarrass himself the way he always did, Alfred was suddenly extremely aware of his presence.

The attack mostly stifled, Matthew went back to stocking the shelves in the psychology section. After lining up about a dozen self help books, he placed a different book on the shelf only to freeze when he saw the title. 'Overcoming Social Anxiety.'

The term was far too familiar. Matthew had heard those two words, social anxiety, on the lips of so many therapists and stumbled over by confused family members. This book shouldn't have interested him. He had dozens just like it at home, lined up on his personal bookshelf like little soldiers fighting for his sanity, all promising solutions for the problem that had haunted him since childhood. Those promises were never delivered. Even if that was true, he couldn't help but feel the smallest spark of hope at each new one he came across. He always thought this one would be the one; this one that would contain the magic he needed. Slowly, Matthew opened the cover...

"Hey, you work here?"

The unfamiliar voice caused Matthew to drop the book. He fumbled for it with unsteady hands, his face already turning a shade of red he was accustomed to. When he managed to shove it back on the shelf after what felt like an eternity, he clamored to his feet. "Huh? Oh, yes, I work here." He kept his eyes low, and could only see the cuffs of the customer's black jeans.

"Are you okay? You like you're about to faint." The man had a German accent, and his words were fast and shrill.

Matthew swallowed the anxiety rising in his throat. He probably looked as though he were about to faint because that's exactly how he felt. "I'm fine!" he said a little too quickly. In an attempt to prove his statement correct, he forced himself to look up. When he did, he had to choke back a gasp. The man standing in front of him had hair like snow and eyes that looked like spilled wine in the store's artificial light. He was unlike anyone Matthew had ever seen. He had to remind himself to act like an employee. "Do… um, do you need help?" He tripped over the simple words and cursed himself for it.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Well, this is a little embarrassing, but it's awesome, too. So I don't care." His initial confusion a thing of the past, he smirked. "Do you guys have any books about chicks? Preferably with pictures."

Matthew felt his cheeks develop an even deeper scarlet. Who goes up to a stranger and asks for something so...indecent? The man didn't even look embarrassed. If anything, he looked proud. Now thoroughly uncomfortable, Matthew could only whisper. "Well, um, I..." He closed his eyes briefly, wanting an escape from the man's wild, confident gaze. Did he have to stare at him like that, especially when he was asking for something so vulgar? His heart rate picked up again. "That kind of thing might be under… um… men's interest? By the magazines?"

A look of confusion passed over the man's pale face. "Really? Huh, I didn't think that was really a guy thing. Are you saying women don't like birds anymore?"

Oh. Powerful embarrassment washed over Matthew, filled his veins, threatened to close his throat. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor. Of course that was what he meant, how could he have been so stupid? Who in their right might makes that kind of assumption? This is exactly why he had no friends. He was so stupid... "O-Oh. That would be by… um…pets." The room was spinning again. Not again, not again...

The man only nodded. "That makes a lot more sense. Why would it have been by men's interest?" He stopped abruptly, as if coming to a sudden conclusion. "Ooh! You thought I meant girls!" He laughed wildly, and Matthew felt almost like he wanted to die. Stop, please… "Whatever. I'm not exactly surprised you took it that way. I can't say that would be too much of an interest of mine, though. Looking at girls, I mean."

Oh. _Oh. _Surely Matthew was misunderstanding again. He looked up again just soon enough to see the man wink. He had not misunderstood. He felt an embarrassed, flustered blush form at his neck as the implication set in. Why was this guy telling him this? Did God just want to torture Matthew today? His words having been stolen from him, he could only whisper. "Um, I mean, oh." Stupid, stupid, stupid...

"Can you show me where that section is? This store is freaking huge."

Why God, why? "Oh! I mean, sure, I guess..." Matthew immediately recognized that he sounded rude. This guy probably hated him already. He wouldn't blame him.

"Kid, are you sure you're okay?" Matthew was downright stunned to hear that the man's voice held an edge of concern. "Hold on."

There was a moment of silent while the man swung the backpack he was wearing around to the front, unzipped it, and finally retrieved an unopened water bottle. He held it out, and Matthew only stared at it as if he didn't know what it was.

"Go on. Take it. I get these things free from my work, and I don't want you to get sick on the job or something," he said. Slightly confused, Matthew hesitantly took it, twisted the cap off, and took a sip. The man smiled again. "Alright, awesome. Can you show me that section now?"

Matthew kept his attention on the water bottle as he walked this strange albino to the pet section. Before he even had time to turn around, the man was talking to him again. Why was he talking to him? "Awesome! You guys have such a great selection." He picked up a book about canaries and opened it to a picture. "Wow, this one looks just like Gilbird!"

Matthew blinked. "Gilbird?"

"Yeah, he's my pet bird. He's awesome like me, so I named him after myself." He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, my name is Gilbert, not Gilbird. Obviously. It's clever though, right?"

"Yeah, clever..." Matthew could think of nothing else to say. He never could.

Gilbert turned his attention from the book and gave Matthew the once over. Matthew felt his heart jump to his throat. "You're not wearing a name tag," he said. "You haven't introduced yourself either. Hm… I know! You helped me find this bird book, so I'll call you Birdie. Perfect!"

Matthew felt his fluster give way to plain confusion. Why did he need to call him anything? It wasn't as if they would ever see each other again once he left the store. It confused Matthew even more when the thought caused him to feel almost melancholic. "Oh," he said finally. "My name is Matthew."

"Matthew?" Gilbert shrugged. "That name is nice and all, but I think I like Birdie. That's way more awesome."

As sad as it was, Matthew could not remember the last time he had a conversation this long with someone who wasn't his own brother. It had been even longer since the other person seemed to be listening to him. As expected, he had absolutely no clue what to do with himself. He felt as though he had just been dropped in a foreign country with no knowledge of the language. When he finally spoke, it was barely audible. "Okay."

"Chatty one, aren't we?" Gilbert sounded amused, but not as though he was mocking him. "Okay, I think I like this one. I'm going to go buy it. Catch you later, Birdie!" With that, he patted Matthew's shoulder as if they had known each other for years, smiled in the same obnoxious way, and started off towards the register.

For reasons he wasn't sure of, Matthew watched Gilbert until he could no longer be seen. When the little bell fixed above the door signaled his exit, he remembered to breathe again. There was something about that German. Maybe it was the unapologetic way he spoke, the fluidity of his movement, the way his eyes seemed to see through him…this was ridiculous. Matthew shook his head as if to clear it, slightly embarrassed with himself to be giving this stranger so much as a second thought.

After pushing thoughts of pale skin and German accents to the back of his mind, Matthew managed to go through the rest of his shift without being strangled by anxiety. He managed to go the remaining two hours without conversing with anyone, and at the end of his shift, he bought the book.

.

Since forever, the time between the moment Matthew walked though the door to his apartment and the moment he turned off the lights to go to sleep had always been his favorite part of the day. In the safety of his apartment, he can truly be himself. If he wanted to run around in his underwear, sing, talk to the air- he could do just that. There were no scrutinizing eyes watching his every move, no need to speak and in turn stumble and stutter through his words- no people at all. It was perfect. It was his nirvana.

That particular day, just walking through the door caused Matthew's entire body to relax in what felt like an internal sigh of relief. The ride home had been terrible. The bus was particularly crowded, and Matthew had stumbled and nearly fell on the way to his seat. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew that no one had cared about or even noticed this error. But in a part of his mind that was much more commanding, he was sure that every pair of eyes had been focused in on him, judging him silently, until the moment he got off at his stop. By that time, his face was a humiliating shade of red and his eyes were bleary.

Now that he was back home, safe, alone, that didn't matter anymore. Matthew stretched, kicked off his shoes, dropped his bag, and did a triumphant little turn on his heel. Free. Alone. Safe. At least, that was what he thought. Not ten minutes after he managed to settle in with his new self-help book out of dozens, his phone rang. The calm he had felt just seconds ago vanished in an instant. It drove him mad, how fragile his nerves were. It seemed like nowadays, the times during which he felt composed were getting shorter and farther between.

Matthew picked up his phone and attempted, unsuccessfully, to choke down the anxiety that rose in his throat. Phone calls were another thing that didn't sit well with him. He felt slightly better, however, when he noticed that it was only Alfred calling. He could handle talking to his brother. He might not be thrilled, but he could handle it. If anything, he was glad to be hearing from him. "Hello?"

"Mattie!" Alfred's booming voice forced Matthew to pull the phone further from his ear. He was sure he would go deaf otherwise. "How are you doing, little bro?"

That was such a complicated question, yet it could be answered with such a simple lie. "I'm fine."

"Okay, great!" said Alfred, much too quickly as if he had barely been listening. Without warning, he changed the subject. "Mattie, you remember Feliciano, right?"

Feliciano was a sweet, energetic boy Alfred had met through work. They were still in contact, but Matthew didn't think he and Alfred were particularly close. "Yes, I remember him. Why?"

"Well, he's getting married! Remember that big blonde guy? Ludwig whatever?" He sounded ecstatic. Matthew couldn't say he was surprised- Alfred had always been such a big sap when it came to weddings. When he married his husband, he'd been reduced to a sniffling pile of tears to the point he could barely say his vows.

"Oh," said Matthew, unsure what else he could say. He couldn't be sure why Alfred would call him solely because a casual acquaintance of his had gotten engaged. "That's great."

"Well, that isn't exactly the point." Alfred chuckled lightly, an obvious attempt at sounding casual. "I was talking to Feliciano about it, and guess what? We decided that his fiancé's brother would be _perfect _for you, Mattie!"

Matthew closed his eyes briefly; absolutely dreading what was about to happen. His brother's attempts at matchmaking drove him absolutely insane, especially when it was with someone Alfred didn't even know. It seemed so random, almost desperate, as if his brother went around begging every single guy or girl in the country to give Matthew a chance. What was so hard to understand? He did not want a relationship. He could not handle one right now. "Al…"

"Matthew." The somber edge his voice had taken off took Matthew off-guard. He went silent and waited for him to finish. "You can't keep shutting yourself off from everything. How long has it been since you broke up with that Cuban guy? Like, ten million years?"

It felt like ten million years, but in reality, Carlos had left him only ten months ago. Matthew felt a tightening in his chest at the mention of him, and realized with a jolt of shame that he still wasn't completely over him. He had spent two years with Carlos, the man who he thought understood him. Carlos, the one he sat around and ate ice cream with, laughing and talking until the wee hours of the morning. Matthew felt like he could be himself around him, like he had finally found the one he was meant to be with.

But as time went on, Matthew's anxiety only got worse. Before he even realized it was happening, they were arguing more. Matthew never wanted to go out, never wanted to leave his house in an attempt to ward off the feelings of panic he felt every time he stepped out the door. This drove the extroverted Carlos absolutely insane. Matthew still remembered the words Carlos he shouted in the argument that ended it all.

_"__You're just too sick, Matthew!"_

Matthew's stomach twisted into painful knots and his eyes grew bleary before he finally spoke. "Ten months, Alfred. That's all."

"Ten months!" Alfred sounded downright appalled. "That's a long time, Mattie! Have you been on a single date since then?"

There was no point in lying. "No."

There was a sigh on the other line. "Listen, bro," said Alfred. "I'm getting worried. You never go out anymore. You don't seem happy. I know you have that anxiety disorder and all, I know the breakup was tough, I just…I don't think holing yourself up in that apartment is helping."

Alfred could be so wise when he wanted to be. Matthew had to give him one thing- he had never been anything but supportive about his condition. Being as outgoing as he was it was likely Alfred didn't completely understand, but at least he tried. That was more than what could be said for most people. Deep down, Matthew knew he was right. Locking himself up in his room wasn't helping, it wasn't even making him happy, but dammit, it was comfortable. He sighed, and then supposed he owed his much to him. "What's his name?" he asked finally.

"No idea. He and Ludwig are from…somewhere in Europe? I forgot. He has some weird name," he said. Matthew bit his lip. This was just like him. "So will you do it, Mattie? This guy works at a nightclub, apparently, and we're going to go there on his day off! Isn't that cool? Feliciano is going to bring Ludwig, I'll bring Arthur, and you can meet up with what's-his-face there. It'll just be drinks. Two hours, at most." Alfred sounded as though he were pleading.

Matthew had never even been inside a nightclub before, so he had no idea how he would have anything in common with someone who worked at one. Besides, two hours might as well have been two days, two years, two lifetimes of stuttering and embarrassment and crippling worry. Oh God…what if they expected him to _dance?_ If Matthew's heart was already starting to race at the mere thought, he couldn't imagine how bad it would be to actually do it. He took a deep breath and told himself this would not be the end of the world. If it stopped Alfred's growing concern, it was worth it.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"Awesome!" Alfred sounded far too thrilled. The word reminded Matthew of the guy from the bookstore, who used it incessantly…wait, why was he still thinking about him? He was broken out of his thoughts when Alfred continued to speak. "This Saturday, Mattie. Nine pm. I'll pick you up and everything, since I know you hate driving. We'll leave after a couple hours, and I'll take you home."

Matthew couldn't help but smile at how kind Alfred was being, not to mention how well he actually knew him. He knew that Matthew was most comfortable when he was told exactly what was going to happen, and he knew that driving made him nervous. "Okay, Al," he said. "Nine pm on Saturday. Try to at least figure out the guy's name."

"Got it!" Without warning, there was a loud beeping noise from the other line, accompanied by an Englishman screaming obscenities and finally Alfred laughing. "Alright, little bro. I have to go shut off the smoke detector. Arthur managed to screw up the food again- don't deny it, Art! What are you yelling at me for? …Anyway, see you Saturday, dude!"

Matthew said goodbye, hung up the phone and sighed. Saturday was two days from today. He would have two days to compose himself, to build up strength to go to a loud, crowded place and meet up with some stranger. He told himself it would be okay, knowing full well he would have to continue telling himself that from right then to the moment it was over.

Right before he went to bed that night, one pesky, reoccurring thought passed through his mind one final time: eyes like fire, hair like cotton, and the little quickening in his chest when he was called 'Birdie.'

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew could not do this.

That was all he knew that Saturday, and he had known it since the very moment he opened his eyes that morning. The moment he remembered what he had to do that night, an indescribable dread tightened around his stomach and sent a shock through his chest. For the entirety of the day, that feeling didn't go away. It lingered like a persistent ghost. Really, he couldn't be sure if he was more anxious or irritated. Saturday was supposed to be the day he could shut himself away, free from worry or fear. Apparently, he would not get that luxury today.

When it got to be eight at night, Matthew's thoughts became nothing but a jumble of possible excuses. This happened more or less every time he was expected to go anywhere. A part of his mind relentlessly demanded that cancel his plans, knowing the relief would feel like rush of fresh air if he did. But Matthew could not do that tonight. He had made this promise to Alfred and to whatever mystery guy that would be waiting there for him, and he had to honor that.

When it got to be quarter to nine, Matthew allowed some of his jitteriness to give way to curiosity. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of person Alfred would think was 'perfect' for him- that was, if he had even met this person before. He had only seen Ludwig in a couple pictures Feliciano had posted online, but Matthew could tell he was pretty reserved just by his appearance. Maybe his brother would have a similar personality. No matter what this guy would end up being like, Matthew could only hope that he didn't make a fool out of himself. His stomach flipped on itself when he realized that was basically inevitable.

When he heard Alfred's car roll out in front of the building, Matthew's heart was palpitating in his ears. This was a terrible idea. This would end in a disaster, as he knew it. He should have canceled, he should have said no to begin with. Why did he do this to himself? Why did he _always _do this to himself? People like him didn't belong in nightclubs. He belonged at home, alone, away from it all…

Matthew closed his eyes, willing the all too familiar slippery slope of thoughts to leave his mind. Two hours. That was all, and then he could go home. He opened his eyes again, took a long, deep breath, and walked outside. When he got to the car, Alfred was smiling. "You look great, Mattie! Are you ready?"

Matthew looked down at himself. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, he hardly thought he looked any different than he usually did. Not to mention that 'ready' was the furthest thing from what he actually felt. He shut the door, buckled his seatbelt and forced himself to lie. "Yeah, I think so," he said. "Where's Arthur?"

"He's going to meet up with us. Mostly because he's not going to spend a minute longer at this place than he has to." Alfred snorted in amusement. "All day he's been going on about how 'uncouth' places like this are, whatever that means. I swear, the man is twenty-five, but he acts about eighty."

Alfred always got this look in his eyes when he spoke about Arthur, whether he was gushing or simply complaining. Matthew had to smile. "And you love it."

"You bet I do. The old man really grew on me." Alfred turned onto the highway and glanced quickly at Matthew, his silly grin only getting more obnoxious. "I think you're really going to like this guy, Mattie!"

Oh yeah, this was a blind date. The nervousness twisting beneath his skin had almost caused Matthew to forget. "Really?" he said flatly. "What makes you think that? Have you even met him, Al?"

Alfred clutched the wheel more tightly, his face blank and unreadable. "Uh…"

Of course. Matthew rolled his eyes. "Do you know his name, at least?"

There was another pause. "Uh…"

It was official. This was going to be a disaster. "Alfred!"

Alfred lifted a hand in resignation. "Hey! This was more Feliciano's idea than mine. He's a good guy; you know that! He wouldn't set you up with a serial killer or something!"

"I would like to think my standards extend beyond 'not a serial killer.'" Matthew tried to say it confidently, but knew that he hardly had any standards to speak of. Carlos had been his one and only relationship, and he had managed to stay far, far away from the dating world since his breakup.

"At least try to have fun." Alfred did not sound frustrated, or even mildly upset. If anything, he sounded desperate. Matthew sighed in defeat.

"Well, if he's not a serial killer, I suppose he can't be that bad."

"There you go, Mattie!" exclaimed Alfred, smiling wildly at the darkened road in front of him. He reeled himself back, and his bright grin faded into a subtler one. "Don't be too nervous, okay?"

Matthew was not sure if he had ever heard a more ridiculous, impossible suggestion. He could still hear his heartbeat in his ears, and he wasn't even at the club yet. He forced himself to continue smiling regardless. "I can certainly try."

"Sweet!"

The rest of the ride passed in mostly silence, occasionally broken by petty conversation. Matthew watched the road roll by, concentrating only on the blurring lines that passed under the glow of the streetlights. He managed to allow his mind to go blank, and it wasn't until Alfred parked in the nightclub's parking lot. The moment the car stopped and the loud, pounding music reached his ears, Matthew felt a sudden lightheadedness. Out of all the places in the world, his blind date had to be here?

Alfred must have noticed. After he opened the door, he reached into the passenger seat and gave Matthew's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Just stick by me," he said. "This guy will love you. If he doesn't, well, the hero will punch his lights out."

It never failed to amuse Matthew that Alfred insisted on calling himself 'the hero.' He'd done it since he discovered Captain America at the age of seven, and the habit never left him. Alfred was a twenty-two year old man still in his superhero phase. Matthew smiled lightly at his musings and opened the door. "Alright. Try not to punch him right away, at least. That won't exactly help my case."

Alfred just laughed, and finally led him inside. Matthew thought the music was loud outside the club, but it was nearly deafening when he reached the inside. Bright, colorful, flashing strobes acted as the only source of light, and he had to grip the hem of Alfred's jacket like a scared child just so he wouldn't get lost or plow into some stranger. By the time they reached the bar, someone ended up plowing straight into him instead of it being the other way around. He couldn't hold back a gasp when the bouncing, smiling brunette wrapped his arms around him.

"Matthew! I haven't seen you in so long, how long has it been, two years? Three? It feels like it's been forever!" He spoke in one breath with no breaks in between his disjointed sentences. It didn't take long for it to register that this man was Feliciano. He hadn't changed a bit since high school.

"Yeah, it's been awhile." When Matthew didn't know what to say, he usually just parroted whatever the other person had said back at them. It wasn't the best way to hold a conversation, but it was better than silence. These were the kinds of things he had grown accustomed to doing for the sake of his own survival.

"It really has! Oh, have you ever met Ludwig? And you need to meet his brother! That's why you came, after all…Ludwig! Luddy, come meet Matthew!"

A blond, stone-faced man appeared beside Feliciano. Like Matthew, he looked to be terribly uncomfortable. The only difference was he didn't look the least bit nervous. Maybe just slightly annoyed. "Pleasure," he said with a stiff nod. "My name is Ludwig, but I believe you figured that out. I understand that you're here to meet Gilbert?"

Matthew froze as he put two and two together. It hadn't taken him long to recognize Ludwig's accent as German, and his brother's name was Gilbert. No, surely this was just an incredible coincidence, surely…

"BIRDIE!"

Matthew's heart nearly stopped beating when he saw a flash of white hair appear in front of him, and not a second later saw a set of piercing red eyes. Yes, this was Gilbert, the same Gilbert that showed up at the bookstore and gave him that ridiculous nickname three minutes after meeting him. He was convinced that if there was a God, he was either giving Matthew a blessing or looking to spite him. And he had no idea which of those options was more accurate. After it all clicked in his mind, he could only whisper. "Oh. Hello." He doubted anyone could hear him over the music.

Gilbert continued to speak immediately. "Wow, this is one hell of a coincidence, isn't it? I have to say, when Ludwig told me I was getting set up I wasn't sure about it, but now that I know it's you, I'm pumped!"

Feliciano smiled even wider than he had been before. "You guys know each other? Alfred! I thought you said they didn't know each other!"

Matthew glanced quickly between the four people around him. They all stood naturally, postures loose, as if they had no trouble being in this kind of environment. Matthew instantly felt like the odd one out. "Well, um, we don't, really…"

Alfred interrupted him. "I had no idea, Feli. That's pretty weird!" He turned to Matthew, an easy, untroubled grin spreading across his face. "Weird, right?"

Weird was an understatement. Before Matthew could think of one thing to say, Alfred shouted something about Arthur being here and shot off in the other direction, leaving him alone with three people he didn't know. This was his worst nightmare. He swallowed thickly, looked into his hands, and pretended to be suddenly fascinated with the buttons on his sleeves. He wanted to run, but he obviously could not do that. He had absolutely nothing in common with these people. What was he supposed to do, start talking about the weather and hope someone would hear him?

Matthew was too lost in his own thoughts to notice his surroundings. He looked up for a brief moment and actually squeaked when he saw that Gilbert had leaned over, mere inches from his face, causing Matthew to nearly jump backwards from shock. At least he had not yelped. Even though it was embarrassing, he was surprised that Gilbert had not already gotten bored and left. "Finally!" He said it like he had accomplished something. "I was starting to think you would never look me in the eye. I think you should get some kind of help, Birdie, because you look like you're about to pass out like, all the time."

That's because Matthew felt as though he was. "Oh." He shrugged, hoping he could brush it off. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, I was just looking out for your health. Anyway, how about a drink or something? You don't look too comfortable just standing here. Plus, it's boring."

Hopefully that wasn't a reference to Matthew, but he wouldn't doubt it. Regardless, he forced himself to smile. This was a date of sorts, after all, so he might as well act like it. Besides, alcohol sounded like the exact thing he needed. "Okay, a drink sounds good."

"Awesome!"

Matthew had no trouble following Gilbert to the bar. It was nearly impossible to lose sight of him, considering the bright red, plaid bandana around his neck and the way his hair seemed to nearly glow under the black light. Of course, Gilbert did not simply walk through the crowded club. He seemed to walk and dance at the same time, a certain rhythm in his steps that kept in time with the music. Matthew simply shuffled along and tried not to call attention to himself, arms wrapped around his own body, eyes glued to the floor, only glancing up occasionally to make sure Gilbert was still in front of him.

Not only did he walk with such a demanding presence, Gilbert seemed to know just about everyone in the building. During the walk, which only lasted about a minute, he must have high-fived three people and waved to at least five more. It was official- there was no way they had absolutely anything in common. Matthew felt as though he had been shot into a different world. Damn it, Alfred. Where did he even find these people? It was actually a relief when they sat down on the barstools. The bar was in a corner a good distance from the speakers, so they didn't have to shout quite as loudly in order to be heard.

Gilbert sat down with a loud sigh, resting an elbow on the bar. "Alright, Birdie, what'll it be? I'm buying for you, of course. Aren't I a gentleman?"

Matthew rarely drank, so naturally he had no knowledge of liquor. "I'll just have whatever you're having."

Gilbert nodded, then signaled for the bartender. "Feliks! Two of the regular beer!" He turned to Matthew and smirked. "Don't worry. This stuff is awesome."

The short, slim blonde on the other side of the counter nodded. Wait… was that a skirt? "Totally, Gilbert!" Within thirty seconds, Matthew was handed a mug of beer.

"Thank you," he said, then immediately drank from the glass. It wasn't bad. Now that he had the drink the focus his eyes on, he felt comfortable enough to speak. "So, you work here? What do you do?" Asking questions was vital. With any luck, Gilbert would go on about himself and Matthew would hardly have to speak at all.

Gilbert took a long drink, and then slammed the mug against the counter. Matthew half-expected it to shatter. "I'm a DJ!" he said, clapping a hand triumphantly to his chest. "I usually work on Saturdays, but these crazy slave-drivers finally decided that I could have a day off. Maybe this way I can finally develop a social life." He laughed at that, and Matthew had to force a smile. It hit way too close to home.

"And you wanted to go to the place you work on your day off?" asked Matthew. It seemed counterintuitive.

Gilbert shook his head. "Well, no. This wasn't exactly my idea. I would have rather gone to a restaurant or something, but Feliciano thinks my job is the coolest thing ever, which I guess it is, but still," he said with a flippant wave of the hand. "Speaking of which, I really can't believe he even got Ludwig through the doors. My brother couldn't be more different than me. He's an engineer, and he's wanted to be one since he was like, five. Can you believe that? He never wanted to be a pro athlete or an astronaut or whatever, just an engineer. It's kind of sad, really. It's like he's been a grouchy old man since he was born."

Matthew had to laugh at that. "Alfred always says that about Arthur," he said. "They're really different from each other, too. Kind of like Ludwig and Feliciano." _Kind of like us. _

"Hey, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Ludwig usually has the personality of a drill sergeant, but he turns into pudding when he's around sweet little Feli." He stopped talking abruptly, turned to face the main dance floor, and instantly burst into laughter. "Speak of the devil. Take a look at this, Birdie."

Matthew turned around and nearly choked on his beer. Apparently, Feliciano had somehow gotten Ludwig on the dance floor. Feliciano had taken his hands in what looked like an attempt to get him to dance, and was jumping around in a way that looked like a cross between a seizure and some kind of country line dance. Ludwig was standing almost perfectly still, save for the awkward little sway that looked to be an effort to keep in time with the music. It was almost painful to watch. "Wow," Matthew managed to say through his giggles.

Gilbert watched as Feliciano stopped- well, whatever he was trying to do- to jump up and kiss Ludwig on the cheek. "I swear; they're so cute its downright _gross. _Everywhere they go, they're known as _that _couple. I think you know what I mean."

Matthew nodded. He knew what he meant, but that didn't mean he didn't find them charming. His eyes drifted a little further to the side and he couldn't help but laugh again. He lifted a hand and pointed at the spectacle in front of him. "There's mine."

Alfred must have taken lessons from Feliciano, because he had somehow managed to subject Arthur to what he called dancing. Really, it was more that Alfred was gyrating his hips and laughing in a very close proximity to Arthur, who was bright red from either embarrassment or rage and shouting obscenities.

Somewhere along the line, Gilbert had started laughing so hard he was nearly doubled over. "Wow," he said finally. "This is a real freak show, isn't it? Honestly, I love Ludwig, but he's just embarrassing sometimes. I can't believe we're even related. I think you know the feeling."

Matthew nodded again. Alfred was a good brother, but he seemed to be a perpetual teenager. "Yeah." The moment he said it, he began searching frantically for something else to say. The silence was terrible; he needed to say something, anything… "Did you want to do that? I mean…dance, or something?" …And that was just about the worst thing he could have said. Why would he say that? That was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. Still, he didn't want to hold Gilbert back, he didn't want to bore him…

"Nah." Gilbert took another sip of his drink and shrugged. "Unless you wanted to, and no offense, Birdie, but you don't seem like the type." He sounded nonchalant, not irritated. "I have to dance around for the idiots in here more often than I don't. It's nice to just sit down sometimes, you know?"

Powerful relief rushed into Matthew. Maybe this guy wasn't as ridiculous as he thought. Again, he had no choice but to say the first thing that came to mind. "So, you're a DJ. Do you have a DJ name?" It ended up saying much more childish than he had intended. He felt an embarrassed flush bloom on the back of his neck.

Gilbert laughed. "If you're asking if I have some ridiculous stage name like DJ Potato-Master or something, no. I usually just introduce myself as DJ Gil, or if I feel like it, 'Gilbert, the awesome DJ.'" He set down his glass and made a dramatic motion with his hands, as if to actually introduce himself. "DJs usually don't go by stupid names, if they have any dignity. Unless you're Antonio, that is. I think he's working tonight. He calls himself DJ _Tomate. _Can you believe that?"

Matthew blinked. "Doesn't that mean…tomato?"

Gilbert rolled his eyes and nodded. "Yep, DJ Tomato. It's best to not ask what his logic behind that one was. Francis isn't as bad, I guess, but he's close. He's DJ _Amour._" Then he turned back around, away from the dancing and lights, leaned against the bar and looked Matthew in the eyes. "As awesome as I am, I didn't exactly come here to talk about myself and my idiot friends all night. Tell me about yourself, Birdie."

"Um…" Matthew quickly adverted his eyes. He couldn't think, much less speak, with those eyes boring into him. As he expected, his mind immediately went blank. He couldn't remember the last time he was asked to speak entirely about himself, and now he was lost. What was there to tell him? Was he supposed to tell him about how he dropped out of college because he couldn't manage it on top of his anxiety, and that he now took classes online so he wouldn't have to deal with anyone else? Was he supposed to explain that he had spent the last ten months holing himself up in his apartment? Was he supposed to go into detail about his mundane job at the bookstore? This was pathetic; how hard was it to come up with a single interesting thing about himself?

Suddenly, Gilbert stood up. Matthew felt his heart leap to this throat and his hands start to shake in his lap. This was a disaster. Of course he was leaving… "Birdie, hey." His words broke Matthew out of his frantic thoughts. He looked up, feeling like he was breathing rocks instead of air. "There you go again, Mattie. You look like you're about to pass out." He sounded legitimately concerned, even though he was still smiling. "I can't say I blame you. This place is too damn loud. I know a place I might be able to hear you better."

Gilbert held out his hand. Without thinking, Matthew took it.

.

"We rent this place out sometimes, but I have special rights and a master key, so here we are."

Gilbert had led Matthew to what seemed to be a private room near the back of the club. It was small, complete with a few couches and one lone table. The music from the main floor could still be heard, but it didn't pound into Matthew's ears like a jackhammer anymore. Gilbert released his hand and collapsed dramatically against the sofa. "God, this is _so _much better!"

"Yeah, it is." Matthew made his way over and sat down next to him, making sure to leave just enough distance between them. He finally felt as though he could breathe again, even though being alone with Gilbert caused a bit of dizzying nervousness to remain in his system.

"Alright," said Gilbert, clapping his hands together once. "Now that we can talk without hurting ourselves, tell me about yourself."

Matthew cleared his throat. He was prepared this time. "Well, I really like hockey, both playing and watching it. I read a lot, too." He hoped that was a passable response. He decided not to mention that he hadn't been to an actual hockey rink in over a year, because they were just too crowded, and the last time he went he could barely breathe. He continued to speak before he thought about his words. "I'm not terribly interesting, really…"

"Oh, come on. Not everyone can be as awesome as me, but that doesn't mean I expect you to be the most interesting man alive." Gilbert paused, then chuckled as if he was amused by his own thoughts. "This isn't a beer commercial, even though it would be pretty awesome if it was."

Matthew was shocked that he had even heard him. He was so used to his menial statements going unheard. Gilbert's response had been silly and arrogant, but somehow it made him feel a lot more comfortable. He got over his shock; finally got the reference he had made and smiled into his lap. "No. I've never even had Dos Equis."

"You got the reference! But no, honestly, neither have I have. It's not even German, and as a general rule, that means its crap." Gilbert shrugged and changed the subject. "So, hockey, eh? You Canadian?"

"Is it really that obvious?" asked Matthew. He had been told more than once that he was essentially a walking stereotype. He couldn't say that bothered him, either. "I grew up in Canada. I moved here after high school, mostly because Alfred wanted me too." He quickly realized how sad that sounded. Not many people follow their brother around a scared puppy. He immediately took the focus off himself. "And you're German."

Gilbert gasped and brought his hand to his chest in mock horror. "Okay, I'm going to forgive that because we just met. I am _Prussian." _

Matthew's face went blank. "Prussia hasn't existed for decades."

Gilbert gasped again, yet his smile showed through. "We do not speak about the incident of '47!"

It was surprising that Gilbert knew the exact year Prussia was abolished. The last thing Matthew expected him to be was a history buff. He smiled, amused, and decided to play along. "Is Ludwig Prussian, too?"

"No! Of course not, Ludwig is just a boring old German. He's not cool enough to be Prussian."

This was just about as endearing as it was confusing. "How does that work? He's your brother."

"It's better not to question it." Gilbert leaned further back against the cushions and grinned. "Now tell me, are all those Canadian stereotypes true?"

Matthew rolled his eyes, though he couldn't say he wasn't amused. "Yes, completely. We all own polar bears; bathe in maple syrup, and apologize a minimum of three times an hour. It's actually a law."

Gilbert's eyes went wide. "Seriously?"

"Kidding." Matthew stifled another laugh, and quickly realized something he never expected to happen: he was having a good time. Gilbert was surprisingly easy to talk to, and on top of that, he listened. Matthew couldn't count the number of times Carlos had cut him off mid-sentence. He pushed his ex out of his mind when he realized that he wanted to know more about this self-proclaimed Prussian DJ. "I think it's your turn to talk about yourself."

Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest. "You're a sneaky one, Birdie. I said no more talking about myself. Oh well. I guess you just can't contain yourself. No one can." He spoke almost as though he were laughing. "As you know, I'm a DJ. Other than that, I really like birds, I have a history degree, and I enjoy my alone time."

That wasn't the description Matthew had expected, not at all. "You seem like a people person," he said. After all, Gilbert seemed to know just about everyone.

"I am, to some extent. That doesn't mean I have to be around people every second of everyday. I mean, really, how can anyone do that?"

Matthew had never thought about it that way. In an instant, he felt less self-conscious about his own lifestyle. Now that he knew he and Gilbert actually did have something in common, he only wanted to know more. Maybe Alfred had done something right after all. "Funny that you have a history degree and like to be alone, yet you decided to become a DJ."

"Yeah, well, life can be weird sometimes. I like music and clubbing, too, so I thought this would be a fun thing to do while I'm young. It's not like I'm going to be up there spinning records when I'm fifty." He glanced towards the door, where the strobe lights were peaking out under the door. "To tell you the truth, it gets old."

Matthew didn't doubt that for a second. Before he could speak again, the monotonous, bass-heavy song abruptly switched to something he actually recognized. "Is this…_Defying Gravity? _Like, from _Wicked?"_

Gilbert threw his head back and laughed. "Okay, it's official that Antonio is working tonight. It's just like good old _tomate _to sneak one of these musical theater things in there. He loves them. I'm surprised he hasn't been fired yet, just for being excessively homosexual." He lowered his eyelids and leaned closer to Matthew like he had a secret to tell. "Tell you the truth, I like the play. This is completely Antonio's fault; and you better not tell anyone! It'll ruin me!"

Matthew smiled. How charming. "It's one of my favorites," he said, and then felt his face grow hot. Musicals were somewhat of a guilty pleasure for him.

"Well, in that case." Gilbert suddenly stood up and extended his hand. "Can I have this dance, Birdie?"

Matthew froze. He felt a familiar embarrassment swirl in his chest at the mere suggestion. All he could say was, "I don't really dance."

Gilbert didn't withdrawal his hand. "Well, that makes two of us. What, did you expect me to be a pro?"

Matthew couldn't say he hadn't. "I thought you basically danced for a living."

"That was an exaggeration. I jump around while I play music for a living. Now come on, we're both giant musical dorks, and no one is here to find out. It'll be our little secret."

Despite his anxieties, Matthew found himself taking his hand and standing up. Gilbert put his other hand around his waist, and with much hesitance, Matthew brought his own trembling hand to his shoulder. They kept their free hands entwined. As the song continued on in the distance, Matthew allowed himself to take Gilbert's lead. He couldn't be sure what kind of dance it was, or if it was even a dance at all, but somehow, he didn't feel self-conscious following his slow, careful steps. Gilbert pulled him closer as the song went on, and Matthew felt his face grow warmer and his pulse speed up to a pace faster than it had been all night. But this time, it did not bother him.

After about a minute, Gilbert whispered a familiar lyric next to his ear. "I'd sooner buy, defying gravity…" He trailed off, as if singing along had been more instinctive than anything.

Matthew continued the line unthinkingly, whispering it under his breath. "Kiss me goodbye…" He closed his mouth instantly and froze in place. God, why did he have to go and say that? With any luck, Gilbert had not heard.

Gilbert pulled away, just enough so he could look at Matthew, and smirked. He'd heard. Matthew stared back at him with a blank expression, his mouth forming an unspoken 'oh,' suddenly terrified and unsure. What should he do? Did he need to do anything? God, would he mess it up? Surely, the thing he thought was about to happen, the thing a small part of him hoped would happen, was not about to happen.

Gilbert moved his hand from his waist and gently cupped Matthew's chin. He leaned in closer, Matthew forgot how to breathe, and he considered the idea that he might have been wrong. Not sure what else to do, his closed his eyes and waited while his heart pounded almost painfully against his ribs. He had completely forgotten how any of this worked. All he could think about the warmth of Gilbert's skin and the cheesy song filling the spaces around him along with the faint scent of leather and cologne. This was about to happen, this was really about to happen-

But Gilbert only raised his head and pressed a tentative kiss against his forehead. Matthew was not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. "Not on the first date, Birdie. Patience is a virtue." When the last strains of the songs fizzled out and changed to another fast song, Matthew slowly withdrew himself from his firm hold. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling humiliated and silly over the amount of fluster he was feeling.

When Gilbert spoke again, the unpleasant feeling dissipated. "We'll have to see what happens on the second one."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred shook his head as he started the car. "I swear, Mattie, you had me worried sick! I thought either, one; you ran out the door the second you were out of my sight, or two; that guy really was a serial killer."

Matthew buckled his seatbelt and smiled. He had lost track of time, and he didn't even think to go find Alfred until he called his phone, demanding details about his whereabouts and threatening death to whomever he was with. "Sorry, Al."

"That's another thing. I would think you'd be a lot more thankful right now, judging by that stupid grin on your face." Alfred's grin was just as ridiculous, but Matthew kept quiet. "So, either that date went really well, or you've been drugged."

"Gilbert was…nice. So yes, I guess I ought to thank you." Matthew had to make a great effort to sound flippant. He quickly changed the subject. "How's Arthur? He didn't look too happy when you were trying to dance with him."

"Like I said, he's like, eighty." Alfred glanced in the rearview mirror. "Eventually he and Ludwig managed to break away from me and Feliciano, and they just sat the bar and complained. Probably about us." He came to a stoplight and looked towards the backseat, which currently housed a nearly comatose Arthur. Matthew had no idea how long he had actually been back there. "Isn't that right, Artie? How much did you have to drink again?"

"I told you, I'm not bloody drunk, ya git!"

Alfred snorted in amusement and lifted a hand from the wheel. "Never said you were, buddy. Just be glad Ludwig offered to get your car home. Now, go back to sleep."

"Don't call me your _buddy, _you…you…" Arthur trailed off, his eyes fell shut, and he collapsed against the seat again.

"Can't take him anywhere. I swear." Whenever Alfred said these kinds as things about Arthur he sounded as though he should be annoyed, but the stupid grin on his face put Matthew's to shame. He shook his head as if to clear said grin and raised his eyebrows. "_Anyways, _you have to quit changing the subject, Mattie."

Matthew decided to play dumb. "Hmm?"

Alfred groaned far more dramatically than necessarily. "Come ON!" he said and rolled his eyes. "You haven't told me anything about the guy with the funny German name! I'm offended, little bro. I thought we had a closer relationship than this." He paused, and a mischievous smile played on his lips. "Did you get lucky in that backroom, Mattie?"

"What? NO!" Matthew turned towards the window to hide his blush. He and Gilbert had spent the remainder of the night sitting in the private room, speaking about musical theater, strange siblings, Prussia, Hockey, literature and birds. Gilbert had no problem carrying the majority of the conversation, and Matthew was more than happy to just listen. When he did speak, however, he did not feel unheard.

Anyone would call it a successful first date. Most people would think it was exceptionally so; but Matthew was not most people. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, a nagging voice remained in the back of his head that told him he had done something horribly, irrevocably wrong. Every little thing that happened over past two hours played over and over in his mind like a broken record, and Matthew mentally ran over each one with a fine-toothed comb without even making a conscious decision to do so. Did he talk too much? Not enough? Were his jokes stupid? Gilbert had laughed, but it was possible it was insincere. And there was that one time he tripped over his sentence. Oh, goodness, that _dance…_Matthew didn't even want to begin thinking about that.

"For the hundredth time, Alfred, his name is Gilbert. It's really not that difficult of a name to remember." Matthew closed his eyes briefly in an attempt to blink away his uncertainties. "It was fine. We talked for a while. He's a DJ even though he has a history degree, he has a pet canary, and he calls himself a Prussian."

"Wow. Okay. He sounds…" Alfred trailed off, pursed his lips, and finally shrugged. "Weird. He sounds weird." He was never good at being subtle.

Gilbert sounded weird, because he _was _weird. Really, he was unlike anyone Matthew had ever met, and that was exactly what made him interesting. "Well, he-"

Before Matthew could finish, Arthur sputtered awake. "Al! Alfred, you bloody moron, we forgot Matthew!"

Matthew said nothing, incredulous, and glanced at Alfred. Alfred tightened his grip on the steering wheel and knitted his brows together. "Uh…Mattie is here. He's literally right next to me, Arthur. We've been talking this entire time."

"Oh." Arthur slurred the word. He glanced at the passenger seat, and his unnaturally large eyebrows shot upwards. "Oh. Yes. Jolly good, then." With that, he promptly passed out again.

Matthew sighed. "Really?"

Alfred laughed, but it sounded more forced than anything. "He's piss drunk, Mattie. He tried to start a fight with his reflection earlier."

Matthew laughed too, but it sounded equally as forced. The truth of the matter was, that happened to him when the other person was completely sober on more than one occasion. The rest of the ride passed in silence.

.

Two days later, Matthew was staring at the little scrap of paper that had been wound between his fingers so many times the numbers were beginning to smear for what felt like the eightieth time. He knew the rules- well; at least, he knew what a Google search had told him. He needed to wait a couple days before he called, because he was not desperate. Because he had a life, because the sound of Gilbert's voice had not stuck in his head far longer _Defying Gravity _as sung by Idina Menzel, which definitely had not been playing on repeat in his apartment for days.

Matthew knew all of those statements were lies.

He knew it, yet he still had not called. It wasn't so much that he didn't want to- it was more that he was not able to. Phone calls had always been something straight from his nightmares. During his entire relationship with Carlos, he had managed to only speak with him on the phone a grand total of twice. The last thing he needed was to call Gilbert and turn to a stuttering, awkward silence-inducing mess like he had so many times in the past. The very idea caused his skin to crawl.

Matthew sighed, set the little piece of paper back down, and picked up the book he had bought a few days prior.

.

It was just another day. It was Friday; a full six days after the date with Gilbert that felt more like a hyper realistic dream than anything. Matthew had never gotten up the courage- or the energy, for that matter- to call. He almost wished that the exchange had been the other way around and he had given Gilbert his number, thus taking the control out of Matthew's hands. At the same time, he knew that would probably be worse. Waiting for a phone call always felt like dangling on a knife's edge.

Much to Matthew's relief, the store was calmer that day. The holiday rush was still in full swing, but for whatever reason, it had skidded to a pause that particular Friday. It was simply, a day. He was able to stock the shelves and take inventory calmly, without even a trace of panic in his system. Things were back to normal, even though they had only been abnormal for a couple of days. He had even managed to convince himself that this was for the best.

Matthew's mind went blank as he continued the monotonous task of setting up the display for some supposedly popular series of books that he had never heard of. Barely aware of his surroundings, he actually squeaked when he heard a sudden voice behind him. "God, finally!"

The book Matthew was holding fell from his hand, knocking over about five more books in its descent and sending them to the floor in a heap. He fumbled for them and shoved the stack aside haphazardly, his glasses nearly falling off his face in the process. It wasn't until he pushed them back up his nose that he looked up, wide-eyed and flushed. When his sneaking suspicion became reality, he could barely manage a startled whisper. "Gilbert?"

Maybe this day wasn't going to be calm after all.

Gilbert dropped to his knees wordlessly and picked up the spilled books. There was a long, strange moment of silence as he pushed them back into their rightful places, as if doing so was his job. Once he finished, he moved on to adjusting the sleeve of his grey sweater. When he finally spoke, he did not look up. "What did I do?"

Matthew just stared at him. What did he mean, what did he do? Matthew was the one that hadn't called. "Huh?"

Gilbert spoke in a ramble. "I mean, I thought Saturday went well, but you didn't call, so I thought…" He stopped suddenly, looked up from his sleeve and shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't as awesome as I thought?"

Guilt hit Matthew like a fist. Of course Gilbert would think that, considering the way he avoided him. This is exactly what happened with Carlos…Matthew stopped himself. "Oh." He broke out of his stupor and shook his head. "No, it wasn't that, I…" _was too scared to call. _"I lost your number." It was a gutless, outright lie, but at least it was a tangible excuse.

Gilbert suddenly smiled again. Now, he looked how Matthew was used to seeing him. "Yeah, I figured that!" he said a little too quickly, maybe a pinch too loudly. "I thought it was either that or you fell off the face of the damn earth, since I've come here everyday and you weren't-" He closed his mouth suddenly and his eyes widened, as if he hadn't meant to say that. "I mean." Then, he just shook his head. He visibly gave up.

Matthew was dumbfounded. If that was true, and he really doubted that it was, how had they managed to continuously miss each other? "My schedule isn't consistent." It was all he could think to say.

"Oh, yeah, no, that's what I thought!" Gilbert rose to his feet, smirked, and put his hands on his hips triumphantly. "So, when do you get off?"

Matthew didn't think to stand himself. He simply stayed in the same position, his mind void of any reasonable thought, staring up at Gilbert like he was a skyscraper, still finding it hard to believe that he was in front of him. "Not for about…" He paused, checked his watch, and answered without considering why he would be asking. "Two hours."

"Alright," said Gilbert, still with a grin. "I'll wait."

"Um…" Matthew didn't move, didn't even blink. "What?" he said and then cursed himself for it. He sounded completely incompetent.

"I want to take you out," Gilbert said matter-of-factly. "It's Friday night and I could use something to do. I'm guessing you could to. Where will it be?"

Finally, it clicked. In an attempt to be bold, Matthew smiled through his fluster, stood up and raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know I don't have plans?" He didn't, and he never did. But Gilbert did not need to know that.

Gilbert's smile fell, and he cupped the back of his neck. "Oh, well in that case, I could just bother Ludwig," he said and laughed uneasily. "I should probably give you my number again, since you lost it. If you want it."

"Gil, I don't actually have plans." Matthew had no problem admitting it. Seeing Gilbert go from confident to nervous in a split second was enough to keep his anxiety at bay. It returned when he saw his supervisor shoot him a warning look. "I need to get back to work. Maybe come back at five?"

Gilbert smiled again, his signature arrogance having returned. "Awesome! All right, I'll be back. Think about what you might want to do, Birdie." He sounded genuinely excited, and Matthew felt warmth in his chest at the sound. He smiled as he watched him go, and not long after he only wished that familiar nervousness didn't have to take the place of his excitement.

.

Matthew's hands were unsteady for the rest of his shift. He was sure any normal person would be excited, but being him, he felt absolutely nothing but a torrent of anxiety. It was so bad that it soon turned to dread. Instead of dying for his usually endless shift to be over like he normally was, the time seemed to zip past in mere moments and he was less than happy about it. He wondered why he always had to ruin everything for himself. Could he not look forward to something for once? Did he always have to worry himself into an absolute tizzy?

By the time his shift was over, Matthew was no closer to having answers for either of these questions.

When that unmistakable flash of stark white hair appeared in Matthew's field of vision, his throat nearly closed and a powerful nervousness hit like a punch to the mouth. He quickly realized that he had been too busy no panicking to actually think about what Gilbert had asked him. He had no idea where he wanted to go. His instinctual response was 'nowhere,' but of course he could not say that. He wanted to see Gilbert. Through no choice of his own, his condition kept telling him the opposite. He took a deep breath, went through an entire personal motivational speech in his head in less than a second, stood up and forced a smile.

"Told you I would be back, Birdie!" said Gilbert when he reached Matthew. "So, did you give any thought to how you wanted to spend this awesome evening?"

Matthew felt an intense, sudden embarrassment. If only he had managed to think about that for one measly minute… "Oh, I didn't. Sorry." He shrugged, hoping it wasn't entirely obvious that he was only making an attempt at sounding unconcerned.

"Fine. I guess I'll have to choose," said Gilbert. He rubbed his chin and made a loud 'hmmm' noise in an obviously falsified, overdramatic display of contemplation. After a moment, he snapped. "Got it! Let's get food. I'm starving."

Matthew was pretty hungry too, but he felt as though he spontaneously lost his appetite the moment he thought about eating in public, with Gilbert, alone. Still, he forced himself to smile, to ignore the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin. "Sounds great."

"Awesome!" Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Gilbert took Matthew's hand and pulled him out of the store.

Matthew was hardly surprised to see that Gilbert drove a Jeep that looked powerful enough to scale a mountain. He was even less surprised when the second he started the car, what sounded to be some kind of German metal music blared from the speakers. He actually was surprised when Gilbert turned it down. "Sorry about that," he said. "Now, what are you in the mood for?"

There again was a question that should have been simple, but Matthew had no answer for. "Whatever you want." He wondered how many times in his life he had said that same sentence- too many, most likely.

"Birdie, I'm going to have to teach you the art of decisiveness." Gilbert sounded as if he was only teasing, but Matthew felt his skin grow warmer anyway. For the sake of his own ego, he mentally blamed it on the car's heater. "Well, you're Canadian, so how about pancakes?"

Matthew wrinkled his nose in confusion but laughed anyway. "You do realize it's the evening."

Gilbert scoffed. "That means nothing! You can't let social constructs choose what you eat and when."

Maybe Matthew just was a walking stereotype, because despite his twisting nerves, pancakes actually did sound pretty good. "Okay, then," he said. "As long as we don't end up eating potatoes for breakfast some day."

"No promises." Then, Gilbert threw the car in reverse and backed out of the parking place.

After just five minutes on the road, Matthew reached a fairly obvious conclusion: Gilbert Beilschmidt was quite possibly the worst driver in the country. Alfred was always an aggressive driver, but Gilbert might as well have been in a car chase scene in an action movie. Really, it was a miracle they did not get pulled over or die. He frequently blew past stoplights, weaved through traffic, earned about half a dozen blaring horns from drivers he had cut off. All Matthew could was cling to the strange handle attached the roof like a grandmother and try not to scream. When the car was finally parked, Matthew was sure his face was about five shades paler. "Wow."

Gilbert just laughed. "You'll get used to my awesome driving, Birdie! It gets you places a lot faster!"

Matthew took a step out of the car and nearly tripped, the same way one would after exiting on a roller coaster. There was barely a difference between the two situations. "Yeah, that's only true if you don't die before you get there."

"Just like Ludwig, I swear." Gilbert clicked his tongue. "Well, we're still alive, so let's go eat."

Oh. Matthew had been so focused on protecting his life during that car ride that he had almost forgotten where they were going. He tried to remember the last time he had been to a restaurant and failed. There was simply too much that could go wrong. Oh well. If he were lucky, this would be fine. Probably. Maybe. There was a slim chance. "Alright," he said.

As expected, the diner was sparsely occupied. The only other people there were a few old men nursing cups of coffee. The waitress gave them on odd look when they both ordered pancakes at six at night, but other than that, things were going just fine. Matthew was able to relax a bit. "Okay," said Gilbert as he poured yet more syrup on his chocolate pancakes that were more a dessert than anything. "This was an awesome idea. Admit it."

"Never said it wasn't." Matthew stared into his own pancakes that he had not started yet, mentally strategizing the best way to go about eating them. They looked amazing, but the last thing he wanted to do was to make a mess and embarrass himself. By the time he took his first bite, he had thought so much about it that he was hardly even hungry anymore.

Gilbert just shrugged and quickly changed the subject. "So, you will not believe what happened in the club the other night! Antonio brought his Italian brat with him one day he was working, even though the kid hardly wanted to be there. He's actually Feliciano's older brother, but they're nothing alike. At all." He chuckled to himself, visibly remembering. "So, since Antonio apparently doesn't have a functioning brain, he decided it would be a good idea to pick the kid up and throw him into the crowd."

Matthew looked up from his plate, wide-eyed and slightly incredulous. He could already tell this would not end well. He had only met Lovino once, and even then he could tell he hardly seemed like the kind of person that would appreciate nightclubs in general, let alone being thrown to a bunch of club-goers. "What happened?"

"Well, they caught him, thank god. Can't say he appreciated it though. I think a minimum of ten people were injured in the process."

Matthew began to picture it, and he couldn't help it. He laughed. "I can only imagine what happened to Antonio." His voice was slightly distorted from laughing. He hated when it did that.

"Nothing too bad, meaning Lovino didn't punch Antonio hard enough to break his nose. It only took an hour for Francis and I to stop the bleeding. It was less of a disaster than the time Feliks decided to light a vodka bottle on fire. Poor kid. He ruined his skirt." Gilbert said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and to him, it probably was. He plucked the cherry out of the whipped cream and popped it in his mouth, stem and all. "Sometimes I can't tell if the place is a club or a psych ward."

Matthew hardly doubted the two were similar. He blinked, slightly bewildered and honestly, a bit scared. "Never a dull moment, I'm guessing."

"Birdie, that's a typical Tuesday. It only counts as a weird day if someone dies." Gilbert barely sounded sarcastic, and Matthew, again, hardly doubted his words. "I bet you've witnessed plenty of weird shit."

"Nothing like that." Then, like always, Matthew found himself at a loss for words. Unsure what else he could do, he thought back to the one interesting thing in his life- his brother. "Well, Alfred's husband nearly burns down their apartment a minimum of once a week. I've had to help him put it out more than one."

"Huh. I guess our lives aren't too different!" If only that was the truth. Thankfully, Gilbert didn't push the issue. Instead, he made a face, made a few odd motions with his jaw, and finally smirked. Then he opened his mouth and plucked out the cherry stem, which was now inexplicably tied in a knot. "Ha! I did it! Hey Mattie, did you know that people who can tie stems in their mouths are supposed to be incredible kissers?"

Matthew must have turned at least three different shades of red. He was grateful he didn't choke on his water. "I, um…" He had to clear his throat, wondering if he would ever get used to Gilbert being… well, Gilbert. "Oh." _Idiot. _Matthew bit down on his tongue.

Gilbert wrapped the stem in his napkin and chuckled. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Matthew shook off the last of his ridiculous embarrassment. "I was just… thinking about your story."

"Yeah, well, I guess it would be hard not to. But enough at my life in the nuthouse- I mean, my job." Gilbert smirked again. "How was your week? I bet you spent it devastated over losing my number, right?"

Right. That _was_ what Matthew had told him. He supposed there was no choice but to stick to that story. "Sorry about that," he said. "I'm not the most organized." Another lie. Matthew actually knew exactly where the slip of paper was- being used as a bookmark for one of his anxiety books. The irony was actually painful.

"Ah. Well, what can you do? Once I misplaced all three of Ludwig's dogs." Matthew must have looked confused if not slightly frightened, because Gilbert added, "Don't ask."

Matthew didn't even want to ask. He shook his head as if to clear it and remembered that Gilbert had asked him a question. "My week was…fine." What more was there to say? No one had been thrown at the bookstore. Nothing had been lit on fire. He should probably be thankful for this, but all he could think was how dull he must seem. Gilbert sounded as if his life was made for movie screens, and Matthew was, well, Matthew.

"Just fine? Not awesome? Okay, guess I'll have to change that in the future." It was almost as if Gilbert was making a promise to himself rather than anyone else. He fished his phone from his pocket and pushed it across the table. "Phone."

"Uh…" Matthew blinked, confused. Yes, that was a phone.

_"__Your _phone, Birdie. I want to put my number in it. That way, you can't lose it." Gilbert gestured to his phone. "Put your number in mine."

Oh, so that was what he meant by that. It was a request, not a statement. Matthew wanted to kick himself. What was he thinking? After a moment of sitting in silent humiliation, he blinked it away and smiled like he knew all along. Matthew pulled his own phone from his pocket, handed it to Gilbert, picked up his phone and punched in his own number. After Gilbert did the same, he handed it back and grinned.

Matthew opened his contacts and arched an eyebrow. "The Awesome Gilbert?"

Gilbert shrugged as if there was no other way he could have written it. "Aw, you put your name in as 'Matthew?' I'm changing it to 'Birdie,'" he said and then furiously pressed a series of buttons on the keypad.

Matthew had to smile. He should have expected as much.

.

After the breakfast-slash-dinner that surprisingly wasn't a disaster, Matthew stood with Gilbert on the sidewalk by his apartment building. He knew full well that Gilbert could have simply dropped him off and drove away, but the point was, he didn't. Matthew could very easily have been overthinking it, but the way Gilbert stood just a bit too close, brushed his arms, let his eyes wander…it made him not think so.

"…so anyway, we had to close early because our air conditioning exploded. I don't even know how that happened, but I bet it had something to do with the raccoon. Seems weird, right?"

Matthew blinked and finally looked up. He had been too busy staring at the way Gilbert's mouth moved around the words to even try and made sense of what he had been saying. He had no idea what he had been going on about for the past two minutes. "You said something about the second date," said Matthew before he could stop himself. God. Dammit. Had he really just said that? He felt his face flush a bright red. At least it was dark.

For a moment, Gilbert stopped talking and stared at him blankly. Matthew had never hoped so intensely that he hadn't been heard, but when Gilbert blinked away his confusion and smiled in that same arrogant, knowing way, he knew he had not gotten his wish. "Ooh," he said, arching an eyebrow. "I didn't think you would ever be so bold."

The last thing Matthew was feeling at the moment was boldness, but he pushed past his doubt. He had nearly missed his chance once; he was not about to do it again. Gilbert was ridiculous, strange, and almost nothing like Matthew. He was nothing like Carlos, either_. _He was perfect. "Seems you've underestimated me." He attempted a smirk that rivaled Gilbert's but he severely doubted he succeeded. "Is it because I'm Canadian?"

"No," said Gilbert, his voice having lost its intensity. It was almost surreal to hear him whisper. He brushed a blonde curl from the side of Matthew's face, tucking it behind his ear. He didn't take his hand away. "It's because you're Matthew."

Matthew's heart slammed against his ribcage, and for a moment of insanity he almost believed it was audible. The stars above them seemed to spin, dance. "What happened to Birdie?" He made sure to say it quietly, too quietly. Gilbert had to get closer.

For what could have been the first time in his life, Gilbert seemed to have run out of words. He almost appeared to have forgotten how to use his body as well, because for a long time he only stood there, maybe waiting, maybe debating. Matthew wondered what had happened to that confidence, though his thoughts were muddled with anticipation. "Right. Birdie," said Gilbert finally. He was using the same trick. He was too quiet.

With hands that felt numb, Matthew rested his palms on Gilbert's shoulders so carefully he barely touched him. Through it had been so short of a time, he was tired of tricks and tired of waiting. That was what his life always consisted of. As if one act would change all of it, he closed his eyes, leaned forward-

Except the silence was cut by what sounded like a tidal wave that soon crashed on top of Matthew, soaking him, causing him to yelp from shock. Gilbert shouted some unintelligible obscenity and tumbled backwards, nearly falling right off his feet. Matthew opened his eyes to see a car speed down the street parallel to the sidewalk, mere feet from the ocean-sized puddle neither of them had noticed. "What…" Gilbert looked down at himself, arms suspended in the air. His white hair was now dripping brown with frigid, muddy water. Matthew couldn't exactly see, however. His glasses were covered. Through the mud that obstructed his vision, he saw Gilbert's eyes fall to the puddle.

They stared at each other for a lilting second, freezing and wet, and then simultaneously burst into uncontrollable, manic laughter.

"I thought that only happened in movies!" Gilbert threw his arms in the air, barely able to speak.

"So did I!" It was just as hard for Matthew to get the words out. He should have been humiliated or disappointed or at least annoyed, but he wasn't. He was amused. He was hysterical. His life was officially a bad, low-budget romantic comedy, and he loved it. People walking into the building had begun to stare, and Matthew couldn't have cared less if he tried.

Gilbert finally managed to catch his breath. Tears ran down his flushed cheeks in result of his strange, cackling laughter, mixing with the remnants of muddy water. "Christ," he said. "I can't tell if this is a disaster or just awesome."

"I think," said Matthew, removing his glasses to clean them, "it's both."

"Honestly, I-" But Gilbert could not finish, because he had given himself the hiccups. He pressed his fist to his mouth and looked away.

That got Matthew laughing again, though it was controlled this time. "This is a mess," he said. "We're a mess, Gilbert."

"Seems that way- _hic- _doesn't it?" Gilbert sighed in mock exasperation, ran his hand through his dripping hair and flicked off the water. "I guess I should go before this somehow gets worse."

"If that's possible." Matthew smiled, but he felt reluctant. This was the most fun he had all week. "See you later, Gil."

Gilbert pointed at Matthew before turning on his heel. "Soon."

"Soon," said Matthew under his breath, more to himself than anyone. Even though he was soaked through with ice-cold water in the late October chill, he felt warm. He walked towards the apartment complex door and stole one final glance over his shoulder as Gilbert made his way to his car. Gilbert smirked in response and saluted, then got in his car and drove off into the clear night.

When he got to his apartment, Matthew realized that for once he did not want to be alone.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	4. Chapter 4

Gilbert had not been kidding. When he said soon, he apparently meant tomorrow. Matthew was not all that surprised when his phone rang, but his heart leapt directly to his throat and suffocated him anyway. For the first three rings, he only stared. For a fleeting moment he considered not picking it up at all. On the fourth ring, he dove for the phone anyway. He could do this. People spoke on the phone everyday. It was nothing; it was simple.

He realized that would not be true for him when he opened his mouth and immediately felt as though the air had disappeared. He swallowed thickly and reprimanded himself for the feeling, but that didn't make it go away. Finally, after a monumental struggle, he said, "Hey." One word. One word should not have felt like delivering a speech in front of a thousand people.

"Birdie, hey!" Gilbert hardly sounded hesitant. "How's it going?"

Matthew gripped the arm of the sofa. "I'm fine. How are you?" So far, so good.

"What is with you and just being fine? I'm doing awesome." Gilbert laughed without inhibition. Even though he knew it was not directed at him, Matthew felt himself grow embarrassed anyway. He did not have much time to dwell on it however, because Gilbert continued at rapid-fire speed. "Well, things are about to get a lot more awesome for you. I'm taking you to a haunted house."

He wanted to go out again so soon? Matthew was planning on taking the day to recover from the previous one. It was probably sad that a simple dinner was something that required recovery time, but social interaction was simply draining. "A haunted house?" he repeated.

"Yep! Halloween is like, a week away. It sounded cool, so I figured I would ask you." Gilbert paused. Matthew tried to formulate his response. "Do you not want to go?"

"No," said Matthew far too quickly before he realized he could be easily misunderstood. "I mean, yes." He closed his eyes briefly. _Get it together. _"I mean, yes, I want to go." He was not sure if his response was an honest one. Did he want to see Gilbert? Yes. Did he particularly feel like leaving the safety of his apartment that day? No. He wished he could go one day without this constant back and forth.

"Awesome! If you get scared, you can cling to me." Gilbert's tone was slightly teasing. Matthew had to smile.

"We'll see," said Matthew. He was surprised at how well this was going. Though his heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his stomach, he was managing to get the words out. That was an improvement. "Maybe you'll be the scared one."

Gilbert scoffed. "Yeah, right! How long will it take you to get ready?"

"Like, an hour?" In reality, all Matthew had to do was throw on a pair of real pants and run a brush through his hair. That would take him all of five minutes, but getting himself ready mentally would take a bit longer than that.

"Alright, cool! This is going to be great, Birdie. Just you wait." Gilbert did not even wait for a response; he simply hung up the phone. Matthew could not say that he wasn't relieved. Still, he had managed to get through a phone call- albeit a short one- without stuttering, causing an awkward silence or saying something stupid.

Maybe he was getting better.

.

When Matthew first heard the words 'haunted house,' he had expected something silly. He had expected dim rooms, bad music that someone probably thought was scary, and the occasional tissue paper ghost to pop out at him every once in awhile. He had not expected pitch-black darkness only broken up by strobe lights, actors playing psych patients grabbing him and screaming in his face, or Gilbert to be holding his hand as tightly as he was.

_"__SCHEIßE!" _shouted Gilbert as what looked to be the silhouette of an axe swung dangerously close to his face. Matthew lurched backwards and hit the wall that he had not known was behind him. Gilbert clutched his hand so tightly it would not be unreasonable to assume he thought he would die if he let go. "God, this is how I die." His voice was a good bit higher than it usually was.

While the house was scary, Matthew could not help but crack a smile in the darkness at Gilbert's reaction. His smile disappeared when something swung down from the ceiling and nearly hit him in the face. He squeaked and nearly fell over, but he was able to keep his footing- until Gilbert actually did fall over and took Matthew down with him, that is. With a strobe light flashing far too quickly in the distance, Gilbert's unblinking eyes almost looked crimson. Despite the actor screaming in the other room, Matthew had to fight to keep from laughing. "Are you scared?" he asked even though he was sure of the answer.

"Pfft, no!" Gilbert scoffed in an obvious attempt to be dismissive, but the way he held onto Matthew's hand for dear life was enough to tell he was lying.

Matthew stood up and pulled Gilbert to his feet. "I can't see a thing," he said, taking a cautious side step in what he thought was the right direction. Even though it was meant to do the opposite, the dark was comforting. He didn't have to think about people looking at him that way. "Do you have any idea where we're going?"

"I have absolutely no idea. I guarantee your eyes are better than mine." Gilbert went from holding Matthew's hand to holding him around the waist. Matthew felt a jolt of energy rush across his skin. He hoped Gilbert would continue to be scared.

"Just how bad are your eyes, exactly?" asked Matthew, only able to hope that he was heard over all the noise.

"Pretty damn bad- SHIT!" Gilbert jerked his hand out in front of him and attempted to swat away the actor that had just jumped out from a corner. Once the man got out of his face, he cleared his throat and continued as if it had never happened. "I'm albino, Birdie. I know it makes me look awesome, but it also means my eyes suck royally."

Matthew giggled but stopped when he ran directly into another wall. "You don't even want to know what my glasses prescription is."

"Before you ask, no, my contacts aren't colored."

"I never thought they-" But Matthew could not finish, because he heard a clatter of footsteps followed by a woman's voice screaming in his ear at top volume. His heart leapt into his throat, a painful shock went through his body, and he bit down on his lip to suppress a scream. He refused to scream. He did not want to call attention.

But this was apparently not a concern of Gilbert's, since he shouted a stream of disjointed curse words. When he heard the chainsaw he jumped, grabbed Matthew's hand so forcibly it bordered on violent and took off in a run. Matthew was not sure if he felt more amused or nervous as he followed Gilbert through the twisting hallway, dodging the zombies, sociopaths and unidentified flying objects in their path. It was not until the chainsaw could not longer be heard that Gilbert stopped sprinting and took a shuttering breath. "Told you I would protect you." He put his hand on his chest and laughed, but it sounded forced and breathless. "This isn't even that scary!"

"Is that why you screamed like a little girl a second ago?"

"Excuse me, that was a very manly scream! We could have died!"

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Oh, sure it was. Don't worry Gil, I'll protect you." He didn't feel nearly as confident as he was acting, but seeing Gilbert cling to him like a lost child who had just found their parent was helping him fake it.

"I never thought someone so sweet could be such a sarcastic little shit." Gilbert nudged Matthew playfully, but he didn't dare to let go of his hand. He still chose to walk in front, likely to conserve whatever dignity he had left. He tensed slightly when they passed a room containing a girl tied to a table screaming for help, but laughed anyway. "Birdie, look. It's Ludwig when he accidently throws Feliciano's pasta away."

"Really? I thought she sounded just like you." Matthew smiled innocently and batted his eyelashes. He couldn't even help it. He was on a roll.

Gilbert sighed and threw his free hand in the air. "I can't even deal with you right now. You're lucky I don't leave you stranded."

"Yeah, well-"

"HEY, WHERE YA GOING?"

Matthew whipped in the direction of the deafeningly loud words to see a clown mere centimeters from his face, the edge of his knife even closer. A sudden jolt of fear hit like a smack to the face, he forgot to keep his guard up and did the one thing he told himself he absolutely would not do. He screamed, likely louder than he ever had in his life. Then Matthew jumped backwards, nearly knocking over Gilbert in the process and hit his head against the doorframe with a loud bang. Once he caught his breath he almost laughed, but then he saw the sets of eyes peering at him in the darkness. He was being stared at it.

Of course he was being stared at. He had just made an absolute fool of himself. He heard Gilbert laughing wildly behind him, likely at him, likely thinking how incredibly stupid he was. The first thing to hit was the embarrassment. It hit so hard and fast it burned his skin, leaving him so warm his face flushed even though his hands felt clammy and numb. Why were these people not looking away? Surely there were more interesting things to look at- no, of course there weren't, Matthew was the real freak here, of course, he had ruined everything, he was so goddamn stupid…

The strobe lights suddenly went from mildly annoying to blinding, burning and vertigo inducing. The room turned sideways, spun, broke to pieces. The air disappeared. Matthew could not even tell if anyone was looking at him anymore, but the damage had already been done. A slew of repetitive, painful thoughts slammed into his head, telling him how stupid he was, how worthless he was, he ridiculous it was to feel like this at all…

"Birdie?"

Matthew fought desperately for air, but his throat was too tight to allow him to breathe. He needed to turn to Gilbert and laugh, make some sarcastic comment and say everything was fine but he couldn't, he couldn't, he could not even see. He could not even move. The ground swayed dangerously beneath him, waves of black attacked his mind and blurred his vision even further…

"Birdie, holy shit, you're shaking!"

Matthew could not see his hands, but he could feel the trembling that he overtaken his body. Everything seemed to shake, including the space around him. God, he was going to faint, he was going to die, the walls were closing in, get it together Matthew, _get it the hell together-_

"MATTHEW!"

It took Matthew far too long to realize he was being pulled and even longer to realize he was moving. He could not feel his legs, could not register the lights and actors around him. His heart pounded so heavily it was all he could hear or feel. Before he knew it, the strobe lights and screaming were gone. There was cool grass beneath him and a cloudless, starry sky above him. He was outside. The people were gone. He could breathe. Slowly, reality came back into focus. Though his hands still felt detached he was able to hold onto the ground for steadiness as he took a series of long, deep breaths. The swell of panic passed. The shame sunk in right after.

Finally, he could see Gilbert kneeling beside him, feel his arm around his back and hear his voice. "Matthew," he said, his eyes wide and more terror-stricken than they had been all night. "Matthew, oh my god! What's wrong?"

Matthew realized with a shock that he had to explain this. He had to somehow play off this attack, somehow make himself seem normal and fine. He had to. Gilbert would never look at him again otherwise, he was sure of it. "I'm fine." It sounded ridiculous, it _was_ ridiculous, but it was all he could think to say.

"No, you aren't!" Gilbert looked frantic, but he touched Matthew's shoulders so gently, as if he thought he was able to break him._"Gott, _Birdie, if that was too much for you, you should have just told me!"

Oh. Gilbert thought all of that was about the house itself. Of course he did; it would only be reasonable to assume that was the cause. Matthew was not sure if that would be more or less pathetic than breaking down over being looked at, but it was definitely easier to explain. Better to be a coward than mentally ill and broken. "Oh, it's alright." He attempted to sound flippant but ended up sounding weak and strained, so he cleared his throat. "The lights were disorientating. I got…dizzy." Matthew cringed at his own flimsy excuse. Really? The lights?

Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Oh," he said. "Alright. Are you okay now?"

Matthew nodded, grateful that the dark hid the tears of shame in his eyes and the embarrassed blush on his cheeks. "Sorry we had to leave."

"Don't be. That was stupid anyway." Gilbert flicked his hand upwards to dismiss it. "But really, you should go to a doctor or something some time. I thought you looked like you were always about to pass out before, but that was pretty damn terrifying."

"Yeah, maybe…" Matthew's voice dropped off. No matter how humiliated he felt, he could not help but feel charmed by how concerned Gilbert was acting. "Looks like you got to protect me after all. Congratulations."

"Did you really expect anything less out of the awesome me?" Gilbert stood up, extended a hand and helped Matthew to his feet. When they were both standing, he did not let go- and it was not out of fear this time. His arrogant grin fell, and he spoke towards the ground. "Really, I'm just glad you're okay."

"Thank you." Matthew managed to find enough arrogance of his own to take a step forward. His heart picked up again, but it was not painful or deafening this time.

_"__JA," _said Gilbert far too loudly. Matthew giggled. He switched to a quiet grumble. "I mean, yeah, no problem…"

The corner of Matthew's mouth twitched into a slight smirk. "Scared again?"

Gilbert smirked right back. "What the hell am I going to do with you?" He touched the sides of Matthew's face and met his gaze. "Well, I guess I can think of one thing."

There were no puddles this time, no interruptions at all. Though the remnants of his panic still laced his blood, Matthew was able to forget about it entirely when Gilbert pressed his lips against his. It was soft at first, so soft it could barely be felt, but grew more confident and daring as the seconds ticked on. Gilbert's hands found the back of his neck and he pulled him closer, and Matthew's knees buckled. Yes, this was perfect. Not sloppy and forceful like it was with Carlos, just strong and sweet and wonderful. This was worth every ounce of anxiety and overthinking.

After too short of a time, Gilbert pulled away. "Be my boyfriend, Birdie."

There was only one thing to say. "Okay."

Maybe Matthew was not getting better, but everything else was.

.

Panic attacks were nothing if not exhausting. By the Matthew got back to his apartment, he could barely move. Fleeting memories of Gilbert clung to the corners of his mind, but they were tarnished by memories of sheer humiliation mixed with unfounded, unbridled panic. He wondered why things could never be simple. After lying in bed for far too long only dwelling on it, Matthew did the only thing he could think would help. He picked up his phone and dialed Alfred.

He answered almost as soon as it started ringing. "Mattie!" said Alfred. "I haven't heard from you in a couple days. How are you, little bro?"

Best to save the bad news for later. Matthew smiled like a schoolgirl in the empty room and said, "I have a boyfriend."

"WHAT?" shouted Alfred. Matthew winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. "Shit, dude! Is it that German guy? See? What did I tell you? That was the best blind date setup of the century!" His voice dropped off, and his tone changed abruptly. "I swear, if he does anything to hurt you I'll be over there in ten seconds flat to knock his teeth out with a bat-"

"Al," said Matthew quickly, interrupting. If he didn't stop his brother, he would go on forever. "Yes, it's Gilbert, and there's no reason to hit anyone with a bat."

"Fine." Alfred sounded almost disappointed. He really loved that bat. "Anyway, holy shit! That's great! When did this happen?"

"Today, actually." Matthew wished this conversation could stay this light all the way through, but he had to get this off his chest. He was sure he would combust otherwise. "I wanted to talk to you about something else that happened."

"What happened?" Alfred hardly sounded concerned. He was blissfully unaware, just like Gilbert.

Matthew shut his eyes. "Gilbert took me to this haunted house today, it wasn't exactly scary, but I called attention to myself and…" He broke off, sighed, and resigned to the fact that there was only one way to phrase it. He could only whisper. "I had a panic attack."

"Oh." Alfred had lost all of his enthusiasm. "Does he know? About your… anxiety, I mean?"

No, Gilbert did not know, and Matthew was absolutely terrified to change that. "No, I haven't told him."

"Oh," Alfred said again. There was a pause that almost suggested he had finally run out of words. "How bad was it?"

Matthew never knew how to answer questions like this. There were less severe and more severe episodes, sure, but it was hard to remember them enough to judge. All he could concentrate on during the fact was clinging to consciousness. All he could concentrate on afterwards was how tired he was. "Average, I guess."

"Thank sucks, dude. I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

If there was one thing Alfred never failed at, it was being a good brother. He may not understand completely and he might never get there, but he did nothing if not try. Matthew was beyond thankful. "I'm fine," he said. "I just needed to tell someone."

Alfred made a short noncommittal noise that almost sounded disapproving. "You're going to have to tell him."

Matthew knew it was unavoidable. That didn't make it any easier. "I know."

"Mattie, look. This isn't going to get any better on its own."

Alfred's words were too careful, too familiar. There was too much behind them. "I'm working on it, Alfred." Of course Matthew was working on it, or at least trying to. It wasn't as if he wanted to be this way.

"Dude, I know. I'm not accusing you of anything, okay? All I'm saying is that you should think about seeing someone."

Matthew closed his eyes briefly. That was a good idea in theory, but the moment he actually visualized sitting in front of some stranger and spilling every gritty detail of his life story, he could almost feel the panic start to creep up again. "I'll be fine." _Liar._

There was a heavy sigh on the other line. "Okay," said Alfred, resignation painfully apparent in his voice. "Fine."

The rest of the conversation passed in a haze of topic-avoiding and meaningless small talk. Matthew only half focused on Alfred's words. His thoughts rallied between Gilbert, memories of embarrassment, and wondering if he really was bad enough to need some type of intervention. Matthew came to the conclusion he did each and every time he had these same thoughts: Of course he needed it. He just wasn't ready.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Wow, sorry for the long wait for this chapter! I've been having trouble with it lately, and on top of all the other stories I'm currently working on, this one just kind of fell through the crack. Rest assured, I am still working on this and I'll try to get chapters out as quickly as I can!**

* * *

><p>The first month was great- just as much as it was exhausting, thrilling, and occasionally terrifying. Nearly everyday, Gilbert would come up with a new way to make Matthew's day a little more interesting. Each seemed more ridiculous and draining than the last, but Matthew was at least partially certain he was making these outings out to be more than they actually were. He went out more in one month than he had in at least a couple years. Still, he loved it. He loved each and every second, no matter how tired and nervous it made him.<p>

Somewhere along the line, Matthew realized with a pang of fear that Gilbert was likely getting suspicious. He noticed it all- Gilbert's raised eyebrows, the too-long, suspicious stares, the pursed lips. He had likely noticed that what should be the simplest things- like ordering food or answering the phone- left Matthew stuttering and flushed. While Gilbert could be a bit daft, certainly he did not believe that Matthew's episode in the haunted house had been due to 'the lights.' Surely he found it strange that he took all of his classes online. Still, Matthew managed to hide it well enough.

Having people in his apartment was another simple thing that sent Matthew into a tizzy. But that didn't matter. Having your boyfriend over was something a normal person did. So Matthew cleaned every inch of the place, and of course he made sure to gather each and every one of his anxiety books, put them in a box, tape it shut, and shove it to the very back of his closet. Maybe it was better than having actual skeletons, but not by much.

"Nice place, Birdie," said Gilbert as he walked inside. Then, he stopped in the middle of the room and glanced side-to-side. "Are you sure your brother isn't hiding behind a chair or something?"

Matthew had to laugh. "Positive." The day after Matthew informed Alfred of their relationship, Alfred had taken it upon himself to find Gilbert's number, call him after midnight, and again, make threats involving a bat. Knowing Alfred, he likely thought this was completely reasonable. By the same logic, Carlos was lucky he was still alive.

"You know, when I told Ludwig, the little shit almost laughed. You know how much it takes to get Ludwig to laugh?"

Matthew felt his stomach dip. "He laughed because of me?"

Gilbert scoffed. "Yeah, because he thinks you're way too good for me. Okay, maybe I'm paraphrasing. I believe the word he used was 'sane.'"

Maybe Matthew should stop automatically jumping to the worst possible conclusion. "Maybe I just am too good for you, Gil." He smirked and took a step towards the kitchen. "Want something to drink?"

Gilbert plopped down on the sofa with a loud sigh. "Got any beer?"

"I do." Matthew had only recently begun stocking the stuff in his own home. He only half admitted to himself that his recent beer drinking was directly tied to Gilbert. "German, of course."

Gilbert practically broke out in a cheer. "You're so awesome, Birdie!" Matthew smiled to himself, opened the fridge and retrieved two glass bottles. He barely even reacted when Gilbert began speaking again. "Hey, what's this?"

"What's what?" Matthew dug through a drawer to try and locate a can opener. He noticed his hands were steady- a good sign. He was calming down.

"I found a book under the table."

Never mind. Matthew stopped breathing and nearly yanked the drawer off its hinges. Surely he had not somehow missed one. Surely Gilbert was talking about something else entirely. "What kind of book?" Keeping his voice even was a huge struggle.

Gilbert appeared at the kitchen in a flash. Matthew only knew that because he heard his footsteps- he did not dare to turn around. He did not want to know what Gilbert was holding, did not want to see what kind of expression he had. "You okay, Mattie?" His voice was too quiet, and it held an edge of concern. Just like that, Matthew knew. There was nothing else it could possibly be.

Matthew spun around in a frantic twist. "Yes, why!" He cringed as soon as he heard himself. That sounded far too manic and unnatural. He gripped the edge of the counter behind him so tightly it dug into his palms and forced himself to meet Gilbert's eyes. "I mean, yes, I'm okay."  
>"You sure?" Then, Gilbert finally brought the offending book out in front of him. Matthew nearly fainted when he read the deadly red words printed far too big on the cover: 'Overcoming Social Anxiety.' It was the exact same book Matthew had bought the first day they met. The irony was excruciating. All he could do was watch in terrifying silence as Gilbert opened the cover and absently flipped through the pages. After about a minute that felt like much longer, he looked up and at Matthew with a furrowed brow. "Birdie, you're shaking again."<p>

Matthew looked down at himself in horror only to notice that his legs almost seemed to vibrate. He locked his knees and crossed his arms over his chest, throwing in a shrug as an entirely too obvious attempt to be dismissive. "It's just cold in here."

"No, it isn't." Gilbert took a careful step forward and clapped a hand on Matthew's shoulder. His expression was neutral, which was somehow worse than sadness or confusion of even outright anger. Matthew needed to know what he thought, if he understood. "I'm getting the feeling there's something you aren't telling me."

Of course there was. There were so many things that Matthew had not told him, had not told anyone, simply because it was too hard and too painful and the consequences were too grave. Matthew knew his luck was going to run out. He just didn't realize it would be this soon. He waited for the panic, waited for the fast breath and the helplessness, but it did not come. He let out a loud breath, half relieved, half full of dread. There was no choice. "Can we sit down?"

Gilbert had never been this quiet or this still before. He simply sat at one end of the couch with that same blank expression, that same furrowed brow. Matthew balled his trembling hands into fists and rested them on his knees. How exactly was he supposed to go about this? "Gilbert," he said, his name sounding more like a statement than anything. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and said the words he had been dreading before he had a chance to reconsider. "Gilbert, I have social anxiety." His chest tightened when he realized it was finally out in the open, and now all he could do was wait.

Gilbert tilted his head to the side. He did not exactly look confused, if anything he looked as if something had clicked. "Oh," he said. To Matthew's relief and comfort, Gilbert reached across the empty space between them and rested his hand on his knee. "Why didn't you tell me?"

_Because it was too hard. Because you're outgoing and interesting and perfect and I have no idea why you would even look at me, especially if you knew something like this. Because I hate myself for being this way, for acting this way, for having no control over it… _Matthew shrugged. Gilbert didn't say anything, likely waiting for the explanation he deserved. All could think to say was, "Do you know what it is?"

"Yeah, I took psychology is college! Well, I didn't show up half the time, but it's pretty self-explanatory, right? It means you get nervous around people."

It seemed like an oversimplification. Matthew nodded anyway.

"Wait. Wait a second." Gilbert tapped his chin thoughtfully, and then raised his finger in the air like a cartoon character getting an idea. "This is why you always look like you're going to pass out." It was not even a question. Matthew nodded again. The floor became a lot more interesting, and he suddenly felt completely, utterly exposed and vulnerable. In an attempt to ward off the feeling, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Only he was not able to stay in that position for long, because before he could even look up, Gilbert practically leapt across the sofa and embraced him. "Shit. I'm sorry, Birdie. That's awful."

"You mean you don't hate me?" Matthew wanted to slap himself. He hadn't meant for that to sound as pouty and childish as it did. No matter how it ended up sounding, however, he just needed to know.

"What?" Gilbert held Matthew out in front of him by the shoulders. "That's the most unawesome thing I've ever heard. How could I ever hate my _liebe?" _

Matthew finally managed to smile, though he only felt slightly reassured. Every cell in his body was screaming that Gilbert did hate him. "Thanks," he said anyway.

Gilbert pursed his lips. "Well, now all we have to do is figure out what to do about it."

Matthew's momentary comfort disappeared. The last thing he wanted was for Gilbert to be like Alfred, always asking him to get help he didn't want and couldn't handle. "Huh?"

"Well, I mean, if you get nervous around people, all we have to do is get you used to it, right?"

If only it was that simple, that easy and that unbelievably petty. Matthew couldn't exactly blame Gilbert, just like he couldn't blame Alfred and he tried not to blame Carlos. Of course he would not completely understand right away. Matthew half-considered launching into an explanation about how wrong that statement was and how he had tried to do exactly that so many times before, but he realized he was far too embarrassed and taken off guard to do any of that. He just wanted this to be over. All he could say was, "I guess."

"Okay, no problem!" Gilbert smiled in a way he probably thought was encouraging. It almost worked. Almost. "Hey, I have an idea!"

Oh, no. "Oh, do you?"

"It's Saturday tomorrow. That means I'm working," said Gilbert. "You should come with me!"

Matthew just looked at him, searching for some kind of clue on his face. He found nothing. "What would I do?"

"You would help me! Doesn't that sound awesome?"

Then, it clicked. Gilbert wanted Matthew to go up on a stage with him, in front of hundreds of people. What he would actually do expected to do once up there was still a complete mystery. A dizzying punch of anxiety hit immediately, but he forced himself to keep a neutral expression. "Yeah, it does." God, what was he saying?

Gilbert grinned and clapped his hands together in one grand, triumphant motion. That meant it was settled. "Awesome!"

Matthew felt equally powerful urges to either cry or scream, so he laughed instead.

.

Gilbert had always suspected there was something a tiny bit _off _about Matthew. It was never something that particularly bothered him, but it was there since the day he met him. So when he learned that Matthew had 'social anxiety-' a term he was only vaguely sure he had heard in passing maybe once- he couldn't say he was exactly surprised. He couldn't say he exactly understood, either, but that was okay. He knew how to fix this. Gilbert knew he was doing the right thing.

Naturally, he was buzzing was excitement as he led Matthew into the club by the hand. Gilbert was greatly looking forward to showing off his new boyfriend. Matthew looked fantastic. He had, somewhat reluctantly, allowed Gilbert to choose his clothes for him. As a result, he was dressed in what were possibly the tightest red pants in the country and Gilbert's own leather jacket as opposed to his regular blue jeans and sweatshirt.

Even though Gilbert was absolutely certain he looked awesome -a perfect reflection of how he was sure the rest of the evening would go- Matthew seemed less excited. "Gil, I look ridiculous."

"That's crazy, you look awesome!" Gilbert tried to continue walking forward, but he noticed Matthew's steps had slowed significantly. Finally, he fell down from the high of excitement and turned around. When he saw Matthew's flushed cheeks and pinched expression, his heart clenched and he stopped walking entirely. "Hey," he said, just loud enough to be heard over the music seeping out from the inside. He took Matthew's chin, tilted it upwards and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. "They'll love you, okay?"

Matthew nodded, though he looked less than convinced. For a split second, Gilbert questioned if this truly was as good of an idea as he thought it was. A large part of him said yes, of course it is, but a tiny part of said otherwise. He ignored it. Of course this would help Matthew. How could it not?

"Okay," said Matthew after a long silence.

"That's the spirit." Gilbert took Matthew's hand again and led him through the doors. The first thing to hit him was the flashing neon lights, followed closely by the faint smell of alcohol and cheap cologne. As soon as he felt the bass line pounding against his feet and into his mind, a familiar high began to set in and light a fire in his gut. This dank, deafeningly loud pit had become more of a home than the place he actually lived. A few people waved or shouted a greeting and he did the same thing back, disregarding the fact that he hardly recognized any of them.

The first person he recognized completely was Antonio, who was charging at him with incredible speed. _"Mi amigo!" _he shouted over the music, not hesitating to throw his arms around Gilbert in what was more of a tackle than a hug.

"Hey, careful!" Gilbert released Matthew's hand and instead threw his arm over his shoulders, half to help him feel comfortable, half just to present him. "You nearly knocked Matthew over_._"

"Oh, I apologize!" Antonio took a step backwards, and his face immediately snapped into a wide, beaming smile. "Wow, I didn't even notice you there. You're so cute! How did you end up with Gilbert?"

Matthew chuckled, but it sounded suspiciously unnatural. Gilbert brushed it off. He would feel better soon, he was sure of it. "Didn't bring your brat today, Toni?"

"Lovino is not a brat! But no, I don't think I'll be doing that anymore. I believe his exact words were _I'm never setting foot in that goddamn dump again, bastard!_" Antonio brought his hand to his face and laughed. "My nose has healed, though."

Gilbert scoffed and rolled him eyes, giving Antonio a playful punch in the shoulder. He and Lovino were an absolute train wreck at times, but they worked together better than almost any couple Gilbert had ever met. He jostled Matthew lightly and said, "Birdie, don't hit me today, alright?"

The side of Matthew's mouth twitched into a slight grin. "No promises."

"I think I like this one," said Antonio. "So you're working tonight, Gilbert. Is he here to observe?"

"Nope! I'm bringing him up with me." Gilbert glanced towards Matthew. He could easily tell that his face had gone paler, even in this lighting. In an attempt to be reassuring, he added, "And everyone is going to love him, because he's awesome!"

"If he's with you, Gilbert, I do not believe they have a choice." Someone in the distance shouted Antonio's name. "Well, good luck!" he said to both of them. Mere seconds later, he was nowhere to be seen.

Gilbert glanced towards the front of the club before meeting Matthew's eyes. "I think Francis is about done," he said. "You ready?"

Matthew wrung his hands together and stared at them as if they held the answers to the universe. That slight tremble was unmistakable. "I think so."

Something about that statement made it feel like a lie. Gilbert hesitated for a long moment. No matter how hard he was trying to ignore it, he had a bad feeling about this. He did not understand why his gut was telling him to pull the plug on this, but it was. Maybe he should take Matthew home. Maybe he could sit at the bar and talk to Antonio while Gilbert worked his shift. He was easy enough to talk to. Maybe…no. All Gilbert wanted to do was help, and for god's sake, this was going to help. "Alright, let's go!" He pulled Matthew through the crowds and up the stage steps, pushing down feelings of uncertainty the entire way.

"There are so many people," said Matthew when they reached the DJ booth. His eyes were wide and fixed on the mass of clubbers beneath them, many of them drunk, most of them dancing, and all of them completely unskilled at doing so. Matthew took a slow step backwards and glanced down the steps, as if he was considering running straight for them.

Gilbert shrugged. "Yep, and they're all idiots."

Matthew finally stopped staring at the crowd. Instead, his eyes ran across the panel of equipment splayed across the booth. It contained about a million switches, some colored, some lighted and flashing, as well as two laptop computers and several records. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Just stand here and look good, Birdie. Maybe you can say something to them."

"What?" Matthew said it as if Gilbert had just asked him to bungee jump of the empire state building. "Gil, I can't…"

Gilbert did not respond. He had to make his introduction, after all. "Evening everyone! I'm Gilbert, the awesome DJ!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Matthew recoil. A chorus of muddled cheers and greetings met his words, and he smiled to himself. He knew he was one of the more popular DJs here. "Before we get started, I want to introduce someone!"

The crowd cheered again, even though nothing had actually happened yet. These drunken morons would cheer over anything. That should help Matthew feel better, right? Gilbert placed his hand on the small of Matthew's back and brought him beside him. He could not help but notice how slow and deliberate his steps were. "Everyone, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Matthew!" To make his point, he pulled Matthew into a wild, messy kiss that probably bordered on erotic.

Matthew pulled away almost instantly, his face flushed and his eyebrows raised. "Gil!"

Matthew may have objected, but everyone else went nuts- including Antonio, who was standing by the wall. Gilbert felt a buzz of adrenaline just like he always did when he was up here, but this time it was amplified. This was going great. "Isn't he hot, everyone?" His comment was met with both shrieks and whistles of approval and Matthew's nails digging into his arm. He leaned to the side and whispered, "Come on, they love you!" Matthew said nothing. Gilbert put on his headphones and motioned towards the mic fixed among all the other equipment. "Don't you want to introduce yourself?"

Matthew looked at him as if he had spontaneously sprouted wings. "You just did." His voice was slightly strained, and his chest was rising and falling just a bit too fast. Again, Gilbert had no choice but to ignore it.

"Yeah, but they want to hear you! It's alright, you don't have to say much." He leaned into the mic himself and shouted, "And here's Birdie!"

"Gilbert…" Matthew's voice hitched on the word.

Another pang of uncertainty hit like a fist, but Gilbert squashed it down, pushed through it. "Go ahead, Mattie!" He grabbed Matthew by the shoulders and nearly pushed him forward. Perhaps it was a bit too hard, because he stumbled slightly, earning a laugh from the audience. Gilbert almost laughed too until he saw how red Matthew's face instantly got, how his hands trembled at his sides. Then, all he could do was stare. The tiny part of him that had said this was a bad idea was only getting bigger.

"Um…" Matthew bumped the mic on accident, causing a bit of interference. He bit down on his lip, visibly too hard. "I'm…Matthew."

Apparently, there was something about that trembling, awkward introduction that somehow made it the funniest thing those raucous, drunken idiots had ever heard. When the laughter started, a wild anger erupted in Gilbert's gut. He had half a mind to scream, to shout, but the angry words died on his lips when he looked at Matthew again. His face had gone from red to white, his eyes too bleary. Gilbert had always thought he looked dangerously close to passing out a lot of the time… this was by far the worst. The way he trembled, shook, sweat- it nearly sent Gilbert into a panic of his very own. He was only certain of one thing: this was the worst goddamn idea he ever had in his life. "Birdie, it's okay."

But his words were too disposable, too meaningless to fix the damage he had already done. He knew he had pushed too far, done too much, went about this in the worst way possible. Matthew looked at him for one awful second, tears blurring those breathtaking violet eyes, lip trembling, and then he ran from the stage.

"Shit," said Gilbert under his breath, powerful guilt hitting him like rainstorm. He ripped him headphones off and chucked them down the steps, directly at Antonio's face. He tore down to the main floor and shouted, "Antonio, take over."

Antonio looked at him, bewildered. "What happened?"

"Just take over!" Leaving a dazed Antonio in his wake, Gilbert pushed his way through the dense crowd. He stopped for no one, ignored the slur of words being screamed in his direction. He mumbled an endless stream of curse words the entire way, hating himself, wondering why in the hell he ever thought this was a good idea. He didn't stop until he pushed past the doors and into the outside. It did not take him long to spot Matthew. He was leaning on his arm against the wall, breathing too heavily, his stance too unsteady. "Matthew, I-"

Matthew whipped around to face him, his cheeks streaked with tears. "Leave me alone!"

Gilbert froze. He had barely ever heard Matthew speak above a whisper. Hearing him shout was heart stopping. "God, that was so stupid. Are you alright?" With a sickening twist of guilt in his blood, he tried to reach out and touch him, tried to fix this. But Matthew jumped backwards.

"No, of course not!" Matthew pressed himself against the brick wall, likely to steady himself. His legs looked as though they were threatening to give out. "Why would you make me do this? You humiliated me!"

Gilbert did not have a reasonable answer. He spoke anyway. "I just thought-"

Shockingly, Matthew cut him off. "What? You thought you could fix me? It doesn't work like that, Gilbert! This kind of thing doesn't just go away!"

And for the first time Gilbert was finally starting to realize that, finally starting to get a grasp on the severity. All he wanted to do was take Matthew home and hold him until this all passed and he felt better. Seeing him in this panicked state was heart breaking. "I know. I'm sorry, Birdie." He tried again to hug him, but Matthew just swatted his arms away. Gilbert's stomach turned cold and dropped like a rock.

Matthew spoke in a jumble of sentences. "Don't call me that! I'm sorry I can't be like you, okay? God, why would you take me here?" His voice broke, tears continued to fall. It looked to be more out of anger than anything. "And I hate these stupid clothes!" Despite it being nearly December, he pulled off the leather jacket and tossed it in Gilbert's face. Gilbert actually did expect Matthew to hit him. He sure as hell deserved it.

Gilbert's mind whirred as he tried to look for something, anything that would fix this disaster he created. He could only think of one possibility. "Let me take you home."

"No. Forget it." Matthew pulled his phone from his pocket with shaking fingers. He hit the keys violently with one hand and wiped his eyes in one spastic motion with the other. "I'll call Alfred. Just leave me alone."

No, this could not be it. Matthew was perfect. He was this fantastic mix of sarcastic and sweet, always witty, always bright. He spoke only when necessary, and whatever he chose to say was perfect each and every time. He was the personification of everything Gilbert had been missing since he entered this vapid nightclub lifestyle, everything he had always wanted and hoped for. And now he had managed to hurt him- possibly beyond repair- with one evening of insensitivity and ignorance. Desperate, Gilbert reached forward and touched his shoulder. "Mattie, please let me do something."

Matthew simply shrugged his hand off without looking at him. "You've done enough. Go do your job."

Gilbert froze in place. All he could do was stare for a long while- at Matthew's trembling body, at his flushed face, at his teary eyes. He stared at what he had managed to cause. He realized that he could only make this worse, so even though every inch of his body and mind was screaming and begging him not to, he turned around and walked back inside.

When he was met with those same bright lights, the same swell of music, he didn't feel a rush. He felt no excitement when he trudged back to the stage and gave a listless performance. As if someone had flipped a switch, he no longer felt at home. Now, he could only feel at home when he was with Matthew.

And he had ruined everything.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


End file.
